onwards and forwards
by NickyFox13
Summary: A look into Leslie's mind directly after Ink Exchange.


**A/N: Written for Schermionie's "5, 10, 20, 50, 70, 100 fandoms" challenge on the HPFC. Expect six more posts from me regarding this challenge.**

* * *

Leslie believed in the healing power of soda. With every bubbly sip sliding down her throat, a warmth of utter glee filled her belly. One could say it was her anchor in a sea of troubles that she couldn't control. After all, she needed an anchor to reality after the whirlwind that was her trip (for lack of a better word) to the courts of the faerie.

More than anything, she wanted to stay in the human world. No more of this between two worlds, or fighting for her own humanity. Leslie liked being a full human without the obligation of changing into something she couldn't recognize. She liked her independence and she wanted to utilize it in any way possible. Leslie did what she thought was the most normal thing a person could do: apply to college. She decided upon the local state college to put most of her energy into. Leslie was definitely a great enough student with just enough padding on her resume to look like a top choice for any school with enough tragedy in her life to pull some heartstrings.

But she figured that she had to remain realistic about her goals. Sometimes big dreams weren't worth following when you had to work your way to the top. So she kept her heart set on a smaller scale, something that wouldn't ever disappoint her or break her ever-impenetrable spirit. This smaller scaled dream included jewelry making from the tabs of her soda cans. She loved making necklaces and bracelets and anklets out of the leftovers of her favorite drinks. Leslie's art probably said something about her personality. Despite being an unwanted leftover, she could be molded and created into something beautiful and desired.

All of her self esteem issues came from her family, although this revelation wasn't all that surprising if you Leslie very well. Her father didn't give a shit about her and her brother seemed to care about her even less than her dad did. And nothing she could do would change that. She tried her best to stop thinking about her eternally fucked up family for most of her life. Leslie hated how much these two men (if they could be so called that) set her back. With that in mind, she pushed forward even harder to do what she wanted to do in life: college and art.

As much as she hated school, it was what she could do to exit this horrendous cycle of disgusting disappointment. Homework remained difficult throughout her entire academic life; it seemed like teachers created outside work just to make sure she suffered. It was hell to sit still and focus on reiterating things Leslie all ready knew. So why bother do it if she all ready knew it in her head? Teachers never seemed to agree with her logic, though. Pity that she never looked eye to eye with teachers in regards to homework, because it would have made high school so much easier. However, tests were a breeze. There was more pressure to finish in a certain time period. One could say Leslie worked best under pressure. She loved learning despite it all so Leslie figured everything was worth it.

One broilingly hot afternoon was when Leslie decided to take a break with the college application process. Her mind felt like it was trickling slowly out of her ears, which made doing paperwork more of a long and torturous process than it needed to be. Leslie's mind being completely intact was one hundred percent necessary for what felt like hundreds of thousands of pages of forms and applications. She went to the library a few blocks from her house because it was quiet, cozy and, most importantly, air conditioned.

Leslie sat down at a free table near the corner of the plainly decorated lobby of the library. She decided to people watch and sketch the eccentric people who made themselves comfortable at the library. There was one guy with a beaky nose, eyes as brown as mud and hair that looked kind of like he put too much time into making it seem like this surreal sculpture instead of an actual hairstyle. His sense of style made him look like a cross between a teacher and a hobo, something Leslie wasn't sure could ever exist.  
She drew him for what seemed like hours, because, damn, a guy who looked like that was definitely worth drawing.

Sculpture head sat next to a woman who had silvery looking eyes (Leslie couldn't tell if her eyes were legitimately that light or if they were contacts; what could she say, she was terrible at telling these things apart.), the most gorgeous wavy dark blonde hair and an angular build that could probably poke holes into the walls. Her clothes were full of frills and bows and rainbows that burned Leslie's retinas.

Both people were characters, with their extreme choices in clothing and their out of this world body types. Leslie was content with this way of life, doodling people whom she never had contact with in a room where she could blend into the background. Sometimes, what others glossed over was just what Leslie needed to do in order to unwind her over crowded brain.


End file.
